


A very small voice inside

by therune



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Mankind Divided
Genre: Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Procedures, Non-Consensual Body Modification
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:20:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25019155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therune/pseuds/therune
Summary: “Isn't that the same?”Pritchard didn't spare him a glance, instead typed with dizzying speed on his tablet.“It's like asking your dentist for brain surgery. Inadvisable.”Adam gets hurt on a job, Pritchard is his best interim chance and Mac does not like either development one bit.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Mac is a surprisingly good muse and most of it's from his pov
> 
> 2) this fic is mainly the vehicle in order to deliver the bit from the summary since that appeared in my brain at one point and wouldn't leave
> 
> 3) I do have plans to continue this but the avenues I've explored haven't worked out so far. Maybe it's time to replay the games.

“Isn't he supposed to be bullet-proof?,” Mac snarled, pacing up and down the room in front of the surgery table, making sure everybody knew how little he wanted to be there. But Jensen had pushed him out of the way of a bullet meant for Mac himself and even Mac who admitted that he was a bit (a lot) of a bastard wasn't that much of a bastard to leave a man who saved his life behind.   
Inside, a swirling mix of good old animosity, guilt and aggression whirled. He could have been mad at Jensen for interrupting him. He could have been mad at himself for needing to be saved. But instead he chose to be mad at the hacker they brought in to help. 

Frank Pritchard had worked with Jensen at Sarif and after the Aug incident decided to leave the Motor City for Canada. Their latest TF29 mission had led them to an abandoned factory that had been under suspicion of being the home to a weapons smuggling outfit (and who knew, good old-fashioned crime still existed and thrived apparently when the world was too busy looking at augs) and was now confirmed to be their main base. Which on the one hand was great because they had been able to take down nearly the entire gang and secured their entire merchandise. But, on the other hand, that meant that most of the members had been on site and the ensuing firefight had been a lot tougher than anticipated. That and _only_ that Mac was ready to attribute to him getting overwhelmed. 

It also meant that the security needed more than their usual approach and apparently one of Jensen's contacts lived nearby. Mac wasn't sure if he believed that that was a coincidence – a hacker happening to live near a criminal gang usually meant that either the hacker was in league with them or planning to steal from them. Okay, no one had introduced the guy as "this is Frank and he's a hacker", but rather as an "old contact who was good with tech". But Mac could read between the lines and if the dictionary entry for 'hacker' didn't have this exact guy as their photo, he'd be surprised. 

On the table, Jensen grunted in pain and then red – something, graphs, text, numbers – flashed from the screens he'd been hooked up to.   
Pritchard swore and darted to Jensen's side, fingers flying over a tablet.   
“Oh no, you stupid stubborn bastard, you don't get to do this,” he said and did something – Mac certainly didn't know what exactly – and at least one screen went back to green.   
The old LIMB clinic was both their best shot and also the worst hospital in the whole province. A specialist had been sent for with Jensen too unstable for transport but their arrival would still take time. 

“What's taking so long?” Mac asked (demanded) harshly, “I thought you were a tech guy.”

“I work in cyber security, I'm neither a surgeon nor an augmentations specialist which both, I might add, are people Jensen needs.”

“Isn't that the same?”

Pritchard didn't spare him a glance, instead typed with dizzying speed on his tablet.   
“It's like asking your dentist for brain surgery. Inadvisable.”

Oh good, more snark and Mac could taste the disobedience in the air. No surprise that Jensen could infuriate him even when unconscious, just by his choice of his friends. 

“Then what good are you? You did something right now.”  
Mac didn't trust the guy was far as he could throw him (which was considerably further than Jensen going by this guy's scrawniness but still) and keeping an eye on him while Aria ran comms was probably a good idea. 

“Jensen has a sentinel implant. It 's several modules connected to vital organs and a central health monitor, providing instant accurate medical data. I connected it to the diagnostics screen, after rerouting power to whichever equipment in here still works. And right now I told the system to prioritize other areas. It keeps trying to regrow the tissue around the bullet wound in his chest which normally would be a great idea, but not when said bullet is still inside.”

Mac had never seen Jensen without the tac gear. He'd know about the arms and the head and suspected there was more going on underneath his clothes but the actual extent of the man's augmentations was horrifyingly more vast than even he'd thought. A screen to his left displayed a model of Jensen posed like the Vitruvian man and the augs were helpfully color-coded. They started in the head – info-link, shades, the eyes itself, Jesus – to the arms, bolts, spine, heart (?) and god knew what else inside down to the legs. A small, very small voice inside Mac whispered 'poor guy'. But Mac seldom listened to that part, which coincidentally (or maybe not) all of his ex-wives had lamented. And that day he didn't listen either. “ He's like 80% metal at this point, what more could a bullet hurt?” Mac scoffed

Pritchard gave him a long, cold stare.  
“He didn't ask for this. For any of this. But it happened, it can't be changed and he uses his new abilities to help people and make the world a little bit safer, a little bit better. Your jealousy and ego has no place in this room. This would all go more smoothly if you'd left.”

Mac's hand balled into a fist and crashed down with a satisfyingly loud crash on a metal tray.   
To his credit, Pritchard barely flinched. 

“Leave your caveman manners by the door,” he suggested and resumed Jensen's treatment. 

Mac stalked out of the room and was frustrated that the door slid open and closed automatically so he was denied even the satisfaction of slamming it shut behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pritchard has a mission for Mac. Mac doesn't like it, but what else is new?

“Is he alright? I mean, considering the circumstances,” Aria asked. She wore a headset and was talking to the pilot in the air. The worry on her face was something she was trying to conceal but barely managed. 

“Jensen's friend is a pain in the ass,” he answered, “where did he even come from?”

Aria muted her mic and handed Mac a file.   
“Pilot's ETA is 11 minutes. Is there nothing more we can do?”

Mac shook his head. The other agents had filed out already, taking care of prisoners, bodies and merchandise. Miller had left Mac in charge as usual and while Mac loved to command, neither Jensen nor Pritchard were able to be commanded. If disobedience olympics were real, they'd both go for gold. He had driven Jensen to the old LIMb clinic while Aria had picked up Pritchard. At some point, soldier brain, as Mac called it, had taken over and he'd not had a conscious thought before bringing the jeep to a screeching halt across all disabled parking spots. Aria had thankfully arrived just minutes later. They both had brought Jensen inside while Pritchard salvaged what he could from the equipment. There had been the point when nothing else but waiting could be done and Mac hated those with a passion. 

“Francis Wendell Pritchard, born 1991 in New Hampshire. Worked at Sarif Industries as chief of cyber security and what do we have here?” Mac swiped on the file. “A criminal record: 'fraud and related activity in connection with access devices and computers' – I knew it.”  
Former colleagues, yeah right. Jensen had contacted the guy after they'd gone inside the factory and found more hardware than should have been there and the security system was more advanced than it had any right to be. By now Mac was reasonably sure that had not been a coincidence. But if Jensen had known more than he told them or if the hacker himself had lured them here, Mac couldn't tell. 

He harbored dislike for both, but more for Jensen, although it was probably only because he'd known Jensen for longer. Pritchard had displayed remarkable skill at annoying him beyond belief already and he had met the guy maybe an hour ago. 

The door slid open and Pritchard poked his head outside.   
“I need biocells. Pure form or a proenergy pack. I'd even take a cyberboost bar at this rate.”

“Bad time for a snack break,” Mac retorted.

“Not for me, obviously,” he turned to Aria, “can you check, please? The clinic was looted but maybe not all was taken. Maybe there's an old vending machine or a cabinet around.”

“I'll do it,” Mac interrupted him, “she already has a job to do.” Plus, he could probably break things and work off some steam that way. 

Pritchard rolled his eyes but then tossed him a computer chip. “In case there are things that require more than brute force.” Then he went inside and the door closed. 

Mac turned the chip in his hand. It looked like any standard chip but the label had been scratched off and 'nuk3' was written on it with marker pen.   
Hacker-nonsense, probably. Not that he'd need help. 

Careful of the damaged infrastructure (looked as if someone had thrown a molotov in here, at least) he looked through the clinic. It wasn't that big – a reception, waiting room and then two corridors, one with surgery suites like the one they had brought Jensen into and one with offices. He went down the other corridor but found mostly more damage. Wires dangling from the ceiling, broken doors, no doors, seemingly everything of value stripped. Graffiti was everywhere, declaring hatred for augmented people including some swear words even Mac hadn't heard before. There was a door with an 'authorized personnel only' sign next to a keypad. It was unique as in it seemed to be the only door not torn down. Deciding to try his luck, Mac tried to force the door. Of course it didn't work. Every other room he could get into, but not what he assumed was the break room. Some keys glimmered faintly, partially revived by the electricity turned back on.   
Mac was torn between shooting the lock and trying the hacker chip. Since he saw no keyhole (sliding door, again) he took the chip and inserted it into the slot below the pad. Nothing happened. He jiggled it, but again, nothing. He was about to hit the thing with his fist (followed by his gun if the first had proven insufficient) when he had an idea. Gently, he tugged the chip loose, turned it around and reinserted it the right way around. 

Immediately the door slid to the side. At least halfway, then it got stuck, presumably because the doorway itself was warped. After some curses Mac squeezed inside. Lights began to flicker on but didn't really do anything to illuminate the room. So Mac turned on his flashlight. Break room, as he had suspected. There was a bigger area with tables and chairs in front of a small kitchenette and a smaller room with locker and benches. On the far side, two vending machines. 'Im-s- in ta-e' said the first. He hadn't seen one like this for ages. Briefly Mac wondered if the sodas could still be drinkable – granted, it had been years, but they were so full of preservatives that they'd survive for far longer. The other machine was less colorful. A row on the left side showed him a selection of candy bars displayed next to big buttons. They wouldn't work but that's what crowbars were for. With great satisfaction at finally getting to break something, Mac forced the machine open and candy bars clattered to the ground with partially sickening sounds. Right, cyberboost, cyberboost, cyberboost – there.   
'Cyberboost Proenergy Bar – artificial food energy source, 90% fat free' it promised him. Typical. Most regular snack bars contained only around 15% or more fat anyway, you had to watch out for the sugar with those. And there was a lot in there. Hopefully Jensen liked out-of-date snack bars. Mac grabbed all he could find and made his way back. 

“ETA?” he asked Aria.   
“Still 5 minutes out,” she responded. Her small crush on Jensen was practically office-gossip. Pity, she seemed like a smart kid otherwise. Eager to prove herself, especially after having her own arm augmented. It felt weird to call it 'augmenting an arm'. She had lost hers after a terrible injury so doctors screwed on a new one. It wasn't her arm that was being augmented.  
“Landing pad secure?”  
“Yes, with the electricity back on it's even lit, so completely safe.”  
“Alright, why don't you go ahead, meet them and lead them here? Would be faster,” Mac suggested (ordered) and went back inside the suite. 

The room had creeped him out before – hospitals were no one's favorite place, much less an operating theatre much less one that had been mostly destroyed by an angry mob.

Jensen still lay deathly still and deathly pale on the table. The working screens showed more red again.  
“Pilot's 5 minutes out and I got you your candy,” he announced. Pritchard was sitting on the floor, typing on a laptop, its screen glowing and drenching his face in strange light. There were cables connecting the laptop to the clinic's equipment and also Jensen himself. It looked disconcerting.   
“That crap's mostly sugar,” he said and deposited them on a gurney.   
“That's the point, carbohydrates provide fuel for-” he trailed off and typed. Mac really didn't like the look on his face. Concern but also something more. 

“What is it?” he asked (demanded) but was ignored. That was the wrong move. He rushed over to Pritchard and towered before him. “Status report, that's an order,” he bellowed.

“I'm a civilian,” was the only thing Pritchard could say before Mac hauled him up by grabbing his lapels and lifting him off the floor. 

His instincts insisted that something was going on.  
“Tell me!”

“A good man is dying because he couldn't resist playing the hero and the person he saved is the same person who is doing everything he can to hinder my progress in trying to save him. That is going on.” Pritchard looked properly angry for the first time tonight. 

Good try, but not enough.

“What are you not telling me?”

“A lot of things because you obviously lack the brain capacity to understand multisyllabic words that aren't slurs.”

Mac's arms were getting tired. Most people looked at least a little bit cowed dangling a few inches off the floor and faced with an angry soldier. Pritchard didn't seem to care. 

So be it. He shoved him to the floor.


End file.
